


Let The Games Begin

by kitkatbooboo



Series: Game, Set, Match [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Dark!Clary, Fuck the Clave, I will add tags as the chapters are added to avoid spoilers, Incest, Masturbation, Multi, People Will Die, SO MANY PEOPLE, abusive parenting, been working on this for a while, blood and death, don't know who yet, its a surprise, spy! Clary, valentines a dickbag but i think we all know this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 08:16:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9539408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatbooboo/pseuds/kitkatbooboo
Summary: By all accounts, Clary Fray is the daughter of a disgraced Shadowhunter who grew up mundane, who now needs the help of the New York institute to find her mother. The truth? Well the truth is all about perspectives isn't it?





	1. Let The Games Begin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Siavahda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siavahda/gifts), [Vintage_Android](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vintage_Android/gifts), [WaifsandStrays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaifsandStrays/gifts).



> This starts at the end of episode 3 of the TV.

It took everything in her not to smirk. To not give it all away. It was happening so easily, she'd barely even begun to enact the plan. Everything they planned, plotted, and schemed for would come to pass.

So much for the _parabatai_ bond.

In truth she was a little disappointed. It’d been impressed upon her just how solid, unbending, _unbreaking_ it was supposed to be, but such slight pressure had already fractured the foundation. She had been prepared to go so much further, to keep dropping weight after weight until it cracked. It perplexed her to no end, this is _not_ what her Father had told her to expect, nor her brothers own experience. _Parabatai_ meant loyal, unwavering.

Except for them apparently.

She bit her lip in thought, staring at her target and wondered why. Surely the lure of family, stability, wouldn't be enough to rush into such a sacred bond.That kind of commitment really shouldn't be taken so lightly it was knitting one’s spirit, soul and heart to another, there was no guarantee the other Lightwoods would stick by him. Especially if they knew the truth. Though Isabelle seemed the loyal sort, good thing she had already started cultivating that loyalty in her direction. Alec on the other hand.  
Maybe he did truly feel that loyalty and love towards Jace and that was his reason for entering it. Which left the rather tantalising question of what exactly was going on, Isabelle had mentioned jealousy. Could it really be that easy? Everyone knew that _parabatai_ were forbidden as lovers, add to the fact that homosexuality was one of the most grievous sins a Shadowhunter could commit, and well things suddenly seemed a whole lot more interesting.

Perhaps she ought to ask Jonathan for help. Two for the price of one. 

Then again, she paused considering, Jonathan _did_ have this atrocious habit of being a condescending prick about things. She wrinkled her nose. He’d help, she had no doubt of that, but like most things with Jonathan, there was always a price for that help. A smirk flitted over her lips gone in a blink of an eye. 

Those prices weren’t always a hardship to pay. 

Jace walked down the steps towards her, the newly risen sun glinting off his hair, she tilted her head to the side, with a carefully sympathetic smile. It just wouldn't do to give the game away now, not when it just looked to be getting so much fun. She repressed a cold shiver as a quiet voice in the back of her mind reminded her that Father would most definitely _not_ be pleased if she failed. 

Her mouth went dry. 

Failure was not allowed. 

She flexed her fingers in agitation wishing she hadn’t left _Zophiel_ back at the institute, maybe she would ask for Jonathan's help. _Parabatai_ should really stick together after all. 

“Is everything okay? Things seemed tense up there,” Clary took a step towards him, hand hovering as though she wanted to reach out but wasn't sure of her welcome.

“It's nothing.” Curt, short. “We should get back to the institute.” A breath, fists flexing. Clary watched him try to get a hold on his emotions. Calculating. He turned away and started walking.

Clary reached back for Simon's hand, pulling him with her, as she followed Jace considering her options. She was tempted to widen the cracks, break them open just a little more, she could almost feel them crumbling in her hands - the pain that had been on his face just seconds earlier watching his _parabatai_ walk away, the aborted anger in his clenched fists, it'd be almost too easy. Sighing in resignation, she also knew that whatever had passed between the two more than likely had something to do with her and while this _could_ give him over to her, it was just as liable to push him away. Possibly destroying any hope she had of gaining his trust and completing her task. 

“Ow Clary, my hand.” Simon tugged his hand away, messaging it.  
She flushed, something a cold settled in her stomach. Such an amateur mistake. 

“Sorry Simon. Guess I don’t know my own strength.” 

He smiled, draping an arm over her shoulders, “don’t worry Supergirl.” He paused looking contemplative, “so since you’re like a superhero, when do you get your spandex uniform? Is there a gift basket? But instead of fruit, you get your crime fighting gear?” 

She leaned into him listening to him cheerfully talk, finding herself oddly grateful for his friendship. She’d missed him so much. 

“I mean not that you couldn’t pull off black but it just seems impractical for summer you know? Maybe something along the lines of Supergirl, but of course -- no capes!” They burst into laughter at the simultaneous exclamation and shared memories. 

She was surprised by friendly smile Isabelle shot in her direction as they caught up. Clary had been rather surprised at how easily the dark haired beauty had accepted her into her circle, everything indicated that Isabelle would be almost territorial, if not straight up vicious at her presence. Not to mention she was known as protective over both Alec and Jace so Clary had expected quite a bit of push back, especially once Jace's seduction and the inevitable split of _parabatai_ had begun.

Isabelle was full of surprises. While Clary liked that about her; she also hated it. Surprises meant unpredictability and she couldn't afford such chaos not when Alec was miles ahead of where she wanted him to be; suspicion wise. And _that_ could simply not be borne. Jonathan already had doubts about her ability to avoid suspicion, a honest face he’d accused her of.  
An accusation she’d responded to, quite reasonably in her opinion, by luring him into a nest of vampires. 

It was a shame he hadn’t seen it the same way. 

Once they’d been cleaned up and mostly healed, Father had sided with her. She still felt a twinge of guilt as Father had demonstrated his disappointment with Jonathans failure to see the ambush. At least that he had forgiven her for.  
Clary hadn't expected to like Isabelle so much. She was funny, articulate, kind. Despite being too trusting she was a fierce fighter. She'd make a fabulous asset.

Clary studied her as she flirted with Simon who looked somewhat startled. She smiled and laughed to herself. Despite what Jonathan said she wouldn't give up Simon's friendship, he had more than earned her loyalty and she knew without a doubt, that he would understand and support her if he knew. She had missed him.

She frowned, it was a pity that neither Jonathan or her Father believed her. Perhaps after she completed her task they'd finally listen to her about him. They wouldn't let him stay a mundane, but she had faith that he'd come out the other side, stronger, better, Nephilim. And then they'd be _parabatai_ , like they were supposed to be.

She gave a short, sharp nod to herself. They'd be _parabatai_ , Jace would be back where he belonged, Father would have the Cup, and the world would be saved. Or some measure of saved at any rate. She glanced over to the silent Alec, shoulders tight, back straight. Maybe she would talk to Jonathan and Father about extending an invitation to him. He clearly was a skilled warrior if his record of zero kills was anything to go by, no matter what Jonathan said. Such talent would need to be properly showcased, properly respected. 

And handled carefully.

So would Isabelle for that matter. But she suspected that once Jace had accepted the truth and his place, that the other two would fall into theirs. Eventually. She gave a mental shrug, nothing worthwhile ever came easy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long. Constructive crit is welcome though I'd appreciate if you pm'd me. Other than that I hope you enjoy.   
> Edit: okay so I just realised that there is no PM on a03. So oops. My tumblr is kitkatbooboo so please feel free to contact me there. Thank you!

Clary laid awake staring at the plain ceiling fiddling with the ends of her braid, contemplating her next move when she heard a knock on the solid wooden door. She tensed as the door began to ease open, sliding her hand underneath her pillow to grasp _Zophiel._

“Clary? Are you awake?” Simon’s whispered question had her releasing the _seraph_ blade with a quiet sigh. 

“What do you want Simon? It's late.” Clary kept her voice low, shifting to the side as the bed dipped under Simon's weight. She let herself roll towards him, noting how pale he’d become. She reached out to squeeze his arm reassuringly. She’d really have to take better care of him, clearly the revelation of her heritage had shaken him more than she’d anticipated. Usually it was Jonathan that was so careless with his pets. Her shoulders dropped and she blew out a breath.

It’d be unpleasant when her mission was accomplished and she’d finally be able to tell Simon everything. He’d be angry but he’d understand once she explained what her mother had done. What Jocelyn had _stolen_ from her; heritage, family, a true purpose. The latter of which he would share after his Ascension. He might quibble a bit about the method, something she and Jonathan also questioned the once but Father’s explanation had been succinct. 

Clary flexed her left fingers. 

Father was right and who really could argue that destroying demons was not a worthy cause. One worth well worth the price required. 

She had a mission, she could do this. Simon would understand. 

She was sure.

“- been through a lot and I know you’re really worried about your mom, but we’re gonna get her back okay?” 

She blinked, sitting up as she caught the tail end of Simon’s rehearsed speech. His face reflected the truth of his words and she leaned towards him, resting her head on his shoulder. There was a moment of hesitation before wrapped his arms around her, as though he expected her to burst into tears at the motion. It was a sad smile that pressed into his shoulder. 

“I know Simon, it’s just. I miss her you know? I’m just worried what Valentine could be doing to her, I have no idea where the cup is. I wish she’d just _told_ me about all of this.” 

Clary kept her face pressed against him. Hiding the disdain at the need of a lie that felt like treason, that curled her lip in snarl better suited to a hellhound scenting wounded prey. The white-hot rage that swept through her like tsunami and burned like the ichor that fell from Jonathan after a training session with Father. She dug her nails into the plain black comforter in an effort to tighten the leash on her anger. She couldn’t afford to let it slip free now but soon Father _promised,_ soon she would let go of the leash and let Jocelyn see; let her know exactly how Clary felt about her theft. The muscles in her arm trembled with the force of her grip. 

Simon hugged her tighter. 

“We’ll get her back. I’m sure she’s got a good reason for this Clary. She loves you, she wouldn’t do it unless she did.” 

Clary bit down hard to still her tongue and closed her eyes to recount the Oath as blood filled her mouth.

_I will be Raziel’s sword, extending his arm to strike down evil. I will be Raziel’s cup, offering my blood to our mission. I will be Raziel’s Mirror; when my enemies behold me, let them see his face in mine._  
I will serve with the angel’s courage. I will serve the angel’s justice. I will serve with all the mercy of the archangel Michael.  
Until such time as I shall die; I will be Nephilim. I pledge myself in Covenant as a Nephilim and as a Morgenstern, to serve as needed. I pledge my life, my will, and my children to the Circle. 

Three times she repeated the Oath, steadying and calming her breathing before she felt able to speak.

“You’re probably right Simon.” She kept her head down. “I’d like to sleep now.” 

She withdrew rolling onto her side away from him. She waited until he shut the door then she got up and retrieved her stele from the top of a plain bureau. Clary pushed down her tank top to her waist and welcomed the icy burn of carving the _irtaze_ onto the soft flesh of her left breast. She watched as it flashed, fading into a silvery scar that disappeared among the hundreds that littered her torso. Smoothing a hand over it, she walked into the bathroom switching on the light, stopping before the mirror. She stuck her tongue out, checking if the rune worked. It always did but she learned the hard way to never assume.

Clary wrinkled her nose, watching her reflection. 

The mirror was large. It sat against the far wall opposite the door, surrounded by depictions of the eternal battle it was easy six foot long and could fit two of her side by side. The first time she had seen it, she’d been surprised, a mirror of that size seemed out of place in such a controlled place like this. A silken negligee in a Puritan bedroom.

She undid her braid, spreading it over her shoulders and breasts like a wings of a phoenix. In one swift movement she pushed her top, shorts and panties down to fall in a puddle at her feet. She kicked it aside, turning back to shut the door; leaning against it facing the mirror and studied her form. 

Delicate toes with their nails precisely painted a brilliant green, she wriggled them a smile on her face as she remembered how long it had taken Jonathan carefully apply the lacquer. 

The morning of her birthday, she’d been curled up in the old cushioned chair by the bay window in her room drawing when Jonathan had knelt in front of her. It hadn’t been until he reached for her feet that she’d noticed he was there. He’d merely held up the bottle of polish and she extended her foot. It’d taken him close to two hours to brush the colour of her toes, it would have been over sooner if he hadn’t occasionally run his nail over the sole of her foot causing her to kick out at him. He hadn’t always managed to catch it before it made contact with his face.  
When the colour had dried, he’d smirked at her lip bloodied and suggested that she make it up to him. She’d scoffed and pointed out that if he couldn’t stop a foot to the face that wasn’t her fault besides he hadn’t gotten her a present and it was her birthday.  
He’d laughed and reached for the waistband of her jeans.

Well muscled calves leading up to thick sturdy thighs. The kind a man could happily lie between, Jonathan once said. Her eyes followed the line of her hips, the swell of her belly that disguised the strong lean muscle beneath. A slight dip of her waist that led up to her breasts sitting proud. Sculpted arms ending in wide palms and thin fingers of an artist. 

She smirked as she trailed her right hand down over her breast stopping to lightly pinch her nipple and rest on her thigh. Fingers of a well versed lover. Her beloved brother had taught her very well the uses of such things.  
She chuckled lowly as she remembered the last time he’d set up the mirror. She’d been flirting with a target and had apparently looked a little _too_ interested according to Jonathan. She’d forgotten to whom she belonged to. He’d looked at her then in the mirror, hand firmly around her throat and whispered with a dark heat that _threatened - promised_ that she’d remember. 

Clary shivered, tilted her head dragging the fingers of her other hand up her throat and rubbed them softly over her lips. She shifted widening her stance and letting her hand drop down to her breasts. She gently brushed her fingers back and forth over her nipple, watching it swell and harden before giving it a sharp pinch, biting down on gasp. 

She wished he was here. Watching her, directing her, owning her and in return binding himself ever tighter to her. For her. Offering up every last scrap of soul he had. She was his, but he was nothing without her. 

Clary dragged her nails up over her belly, leaving red lines behind as she moved to cup her breast and give it the same treatment. Cupping both, she teased the nipples with her forefingers, circling around and around. She pinched the left harder than before while scraping her nails over the right. She alternated movements and again, thighs clenching as best they could to ease the ache that flared with every burst of pain. 

She could almost hear him murmuring heated promises, dark threats, hand around her throat demanding that she resist, to not touch yet. 

She bit her lip against a moan as she leant forward to run a finger along each lip of her vulva and again barely dipping between them, rolling her nipple with the other hand. She spread her legs further, opening herself up to the mirror. She could almost see Jonathan kneeling before her, his hand ghosting up her thigh as she teased and spread herself open for him. The look of pure devotion and insatiable hunger that carved harsh lines in his face and turned fingers into claws made to mark. 

She gave herself a long slow firm stroke that curled her toes before using the blunt edge of her nail to circle around her clit. It would be about now Jonathan would lean close to let her feel his breath. Teasing her with how close that wickedly clever tongue was while he’d rake his nails down the back of her thighs.  
She slipped her finger down and brush over her opening. Each time longer and with more pressure, the promise of more arching her hips forward. The hand at her breasts abandoned them to slip down and graze her clit with a moan. 

A loud knock on the bathroom door followed by a concerned “Clary are you alright?” had her grinding her teeth in frustration. She resisted the urge to bang her head against the door and stood. 

“I’m fine Jace. I’ll be out in a second.”

Clary quickly dressed and washed her hands before opening the door. When Jace caught sight of her he stilled the stele he’d been fidgeting with and straightened from his slouch against the bureau. 

He studied her for a moment before asking softly, ”are you okay?”

It was all she could do to not snap at him. She’d been just _fine_ before he interrupted; instead she took a breath and forced calm; shooting a soft smile at him. This was a good sign overall, even if it was at an inconvenient moment. She walked over and flopped down on the bed; patting it beside her in invitation. Jace flashed a cocky smile as he walked over and stretched out over the bed; head resting in his hand. 

“If I’d known it’d be so easy to get you into bed I might have tried it earlier,” he waved his free hand over his body; an arrogant display, “I know I’m hard to resist.“ He winked, “I _am_ gorgeous.”  
Clary laughed and reached to smack his thigh. Quick as lightening Jace grabbed her hand and yanked her up simultaneously rolling onto his back so she lay splayed over him. Clary laughed again and whacked his shoulder. 

“It’s a real pity you’re so modest,” she rolled her eyes and wiggled tipping them to the side so they lay face to face. Jace’s arm was under her head, she shifted until she was resting comfortable on his bicep. This close she could see the flicks of golden brown in his eyes, the small scars from nicks from _seraph_ blades or demon talons that’d gotten too close, the slight bend in his nose that signified a break fixed with not quite enough care. She raised one hand and traced over his brow, his cheeks, his lips. Cataloguing the differences and similarities the between him and Jonathan. She wondered if how he would kiss. If he would be as rough, as claiming as Jonathan; a kiss full of blood, of death, and unspoken promises. She cupped his cheek and watched as pressed into her hand like a cat luxuriating in the warm spring sun, so much like her Jonathan. Clary rubbed her thumb over his cheek and was rewarded when his eyes slid closed. If he were a cat, he’d purr. 

Perhaps she would keep him.

She dropped her hand and watched as disappointment flitted over his face. She tucked herself more against his side.  
Jace ghosted his hand over her side, uncertainty glimmering in his eyes as to where he should place his hand. She took it and curled both her own around it, placing it between them. She stroked his hand. Learning the feel of his palm, callused and rough. Evidence of heavy training and long hours clutched around the hilt of a _seraph_ blade. The skin on the back of his hand was smoother, little white scars he hadn’t bothered to heal scattered about like constellations. 

Jace’s face was tilted down toward her, she wondered if he knew how vulnerable he looked.  
He curled his arm around her, hand resting on her upper arm. He hesitantly let his fingers give a fleeting caress  
“We’ll find her Clary.” His voice low and intimate, threading his fingers through hers with the hand clasped between them. Clary summoned up a half hearted smile, ducking her head. Jace freed his hand from hers and tipped her chin up, eyes serious.  
“I know Valentine… he’s vicious. He…” he paused tense, wrestling with indecision. “He killed my father. And I know that she was his wife… “ He trailed off. The arm under her head went rigid and she saw determination flash across his face as he seemed to make a decision. “I won’t lie, she could be dead. Or worse.” He pulled her closer into a firm hug and continued, “But you’re a shadowhunter and we take care of our own. You’ll always have a place here. With m- us.” He held her for a few seconds more and relaxed his grip, easing slightly away from her. 

Clary hid a smirk at his near slip. 

“What about Alec? He’s in charge here isn’t he? He doesn’t exactly like me Jace.” 

Jace shrugged, “He’ll come around, he needs time. He doesn’t like new people.”

She curled up further into him, tensing her back and shoulders, face tucked into his throat. Clary could smell him, sunlight and oil that was used for cleaning maintaining weapons and the undefinable scent that meant man. Lighter than Jonathan, but no less pleasing. 

He rubbed her arm, and brought her closer to him again. Worry bled through as he asked what was wrong. When she remained silent, he pulled back to look at her face.

“Clary?” 

She bit her lip and hesitantly said, “do you really think she’s.. “ Clary trailed off artfully with a choked up sob. Panic flittered over Jace’s face as he remembered that she was a mundane and therefore not used to death being around every corner. Clary bit her lip in a hope to contain the laughter that was bubbling up, sometimes pretending to care was such a bitch.  
He seemed torn between assuring her that her mother was indeed fine and not offering her false hope. 

“I’m sure she’s fine. Valentine won’t hurt her until he knows where the cup is.” Jace gave a confident smile. “We’ll get it to first and then we’ll get her back.”  
She let a tremulous smile cross her lips and squeezed his hand in thanks, angling her head towards him. Jace shifted down so that they were face to face, still intertwined. 

“I mean it Clary. We won’t let him win.” 

Jace’s breath tickled her lips. She licked them and watched as Jace’s eyes darted down to her lips and back. She leant forward and gently pressed her lips to his. He inhaled sharply, his body taut in shock and surprise. Clary made to draw back when his hand came up to cup her cheek, his body going pliant as he turned raising to rest on one elbow above her. Shifting so her head remained cradled in the crook of his arm. He kept it slow and languorous. Each movement coaxing and entreating. The tip of his tongue flicking out to taste her lips before retreating. A light nip of teeth on her bottom lip, a plea for entry.  
Clary opened for him. One hand buried in his hair, fingers firmly twisted in golden strands. The other clasped firmly on his bicep, fingers flexing and testing the strength of the lean muscle beneath tawny skin. He groaned as she allowed him inside, tongue sliding against hers. He moaned as she bit down on his lip,sharp and painful.  
Clary let go of his hair and slid her hand down to his neck. Nails biting into skin, drawing pinpricks of blood. She took control of the kiss, she took control of him as Jace’s hips thrust forward. She slid her leg up and around Jace’s hips, drawing him down to fit properly between her legs. She dug her nails in painfully and broke the kiss to moan as the feel of his weight on her and the feel of his cock pressed against her clit brought the lust roaring back to life. Jace shuddered above her and rolled away. 

Clary nearly howled in outrage as she was once again left aching and in need. She covered her face in her hands and counted to ten, then twenty, to the accompaniment of their heavy breathing.  
Eventually it slowed and Jace got off the bed, standing awkward as she’d ever seen him.  
He cleared his throat twice, and opened his mouth once only to shut it as his voice failed him.  
Clary gave a mental sigh and took pity on him. 

“I’m sorry Jace,” she ducked her head in bashful way, “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” She glanced up from her lashes in time to see a look of hurt melt away into a mask. She mentally cursed and popped up from where she was lying to reach out a hand to him as he turned away.  
“I mean I didn’t mean for this to get out of hand.” He turned back to her, his eyes flared as he watched her lick her lips as she was tasting him still. “I’m not sorry for the kiss.”  
She drew back into herself as he made no response.  
“I.. well. I think I should go to bed now.. I mean uh sleep. I should to go to sleep, cause it’s late and all…” she rambled making sure to inject uncertainty and a hint of tears into her voice, a talent hard won and long since honed, as she turned away.  
She felt Jace tug her arm gently to get her to face him.

“I’m not sorry either,” sincerity, a beat, a pause. The weight of _something_ settling, of clicking into place. A moment bloated with its own importance. “Of course who could be sorry at kissing this.” He cocked an eyebrow, “who could resist the Jace Experience.” Fragile arrogance. 

Clary let out a soft laugh and threw a pillow at him. 

“I do need to sleep Jace. Goodnight.” 

Jace dodged and gave a theatrical bow, smug grin barely hiding the confused arousal.  
“So eager to dream of me then?” He playfully leered, “you could have the real thing you know, all you have to do is ask. Much better than any dream.” 

Clary rolled her eyes and threw another pillow at him. “Out Jace. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

He walked backwards doors towards the door, not bothering to dodge this pillow. “I’m just saying-”

“Out Jace!” Clary stood to collect her pillows.

“Oh so eager Clary. Who knew you were so anxious to dream of yours truly. Maybe I can-”

Clary interrupted him with a pillow to the shoulder. 

“Out Jace, goodnight.” 

“It will be sweet-” 

She shut the door in his face. Clary waited until she heard his footsteps had faded before locking the door and climbing back into bed. She swiftly shoved her hand down her panties and brought herself off quick and dirty before she could be interrupted. After cleaning up and feeling a lot more relaxed she cuddled into one of the pillows and let sleep take her.

 

Her mobile rang twice and went silent. Clary’s eyes snapped opened. She got out of bed and retrieved a small communicator well hidden in her bag. Something her Father had encouraged a particularly skilled warlock to create. She flicked it open and entered the correct code. A hologram of a familiar face popped into view.

She smiled and said, “Hello Father.”

**Author's Note:**

> Zophiel - means God's Spy. 
> 
> I know. But it made me laugh.


End file.
